Lost in Suburbia: The best laid flight plans

Tracy Beckerman More Content Now

Wednesday

Mar 13, 2019 at 8:48 AMMar 13, 2019 at 8:48 AM

When it comes to air travel, I’m certainly no stranger to flight delays. On a trip last summer, our return flight was delayed 36 hours. Strangely enough, this was also the same amount of time I had been in labor with my son. The difference was at the end of my labor, I got a beautiful child, whereas at the end of the flight delay, I got a pack of free pretzels.

After this marathon travel experience, I was understandably nervous when I spent an hour on the runway waiting to take off for Houston. I had a connecting flight to make to Los Angeles, so I thought it would be a good idea for us to take off that day if I would have any chance of making my connection.

The one thing I had going for me was the fact that I didn’t check my luggage. After the delay, I would only have 15 minutes to change planes. Had I checked my bag, I knew there was no way it would have made it onto the connecting flight. Then I would have had to buy underwear from a vending machine in the airport and I would have been really cranky for the rest of the trip.

Unfortunately, when we landed, I found out that my connecting flight was in another terminal in another part of the airport, which was so big that that the other terminal seemed to actually be in another part of the state. I was going to have to run 13 miles in chunky platform boots which seemed like a good footwear choice at the time, but maybe not the most sensible shoes when you have to run a half marathon. Add to that a suitcase with a wonky wheel and I was not a happy traveler.

I barreled down one of the moving sidewalks at an incredible pace because I was running and it was moving and invariably I got to the end where it stopped but I didn’t and I fell on my face.

After doing this five times, I decided I needed an alternate mode of transportation. But just when I thought I would actually have to walk the rest of the way, I caught site of an airport golf cart for the elderly and the physically compromised.

“Hey, Mister, could you give me a ride to Terminal C,” I begged the driver.

“Lady, this is a golf cart for disabled people,” he told me.

“But I am disabled,” I told him. “I’ve been running for 10 miles in these chunky platform boots and I’m pretty sure I have stress fractures in all of my toes.”

He looked at me skeptically.

Fortunately, there were no actual disabled persons around so he let me hitch a ride until a man on crutches with a broken leg came into view.

Golf Cart guy started to slow down.

“No, keep going,” I insisted. “He’s doing just fine. He’s got to learn to stand on his own two, er, one and a half feet.”

Eventually I arrived at my gate, breathless and sweaty from dragging a suitcase with a wonky wheel and limping from running in my platform boots that were not even made for walking much less running across an airport.

“Did I make it,” I panted to the woman behind the check-in desk. “Am I in time for the flight to L.A.?”

She looked at me perplexed. “Of course,” she said. “That flight is delayed. Would you like some pretzels while you wait?”For more Lost in Suburbia, Follow Tracy on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage and Twitter @TracyBeckerman.

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